WHEN people hear the word misgendering, they often think of it as a simple mistake in language. Some assume it is nothing more than using the wrong pronoun or title; however, for many transgender Ilonggos, misgendering is not just about words. It is an experience that touches their daily lives, shapes their relationships, and influences how they see themselves in society.
Over the past few years, I have had the opportunity to listen to the stories of transgender Ilonggos from different walks of life. Their experiences differ in many ways, yet one message consistently emerged: language has the power to affirm a person’s identity, but it also has the power to diminish it.
For many participants in my studies, misgendering began long before adulthood. Some recalled being addressed in ways that never reflected who they truly were. Others described growing up in environments where their gender identity was questioned, corrected, or dismissed. Although these experiences occurred in different settings, they shared one common thread: they wanted to be recognized for who they are, not for who others expected them to be.
Many also shared that misgendering often happens in ordinary situations. It may occur while buying food, introducing themselves to new acquaintances, visiting a government office, or receiving medical services. A simple “sir” instead of “ma’am,” or the repeated use of a name they no longer identify with, can quickly turn an ordinary interaction into an uncomfortable one. What may seem insignificant to others can stay with a person long after the conversation has ended.
One of the most meaningful insights from these conversations was that the pain of misgendering does not always come from the word itself. Often, it comes from what the word represents. When someone repeatedly uses the wrong name or form of address, even after being corrected, many transgender individuals interpret it as a refusal to acknowledge their identity. The issue is no longer about language alone. It becomes a question of recognition, dignity, and belonging.
At the same time, the stories were not defined only by struggle. Many transgender Ilonggos also spoke about moments of acceptance that gave them hope. They remembered friends who immediately corrected themselves after making a mistake. They appreciated strangers who politely asked how they wished to be addressed. They expressed gratitude for family members, colleagues, and public servants who treated them with respect without making them feel different. These seemingly small gestures left lasting impressions because they affirmed their humanity.
Another important lesson emerged from these conversations: respect does not require perfection. Participants generally understood that people make mistakes. What mattered most to them was sincerity. A genuine apology, a willingness to listen, and an effort to do better often meant far more than getting every word right the first time. Respect, they said, is measured not by flawless language but by a genuine desire to recognize another person’s identity.
These lived experiences remind us that conversations about misgendering should never be reduced to debates about vocabulary. At its heart, the issue is about people. Behind every experience is a person who hopes to be treated with the same courtesy and dignity that we all desire.
The stories of transgender Ilonggos also remind us that language can become an instrument of inclusion. A single word can open a door to understanding, while another can unintentionally create distance. The choice is ours.
As Ilonggos, we often pride ourselves on our warmth and hospitality. Perhaps one of the simplest ways to live out those values is by addressing people in ways that recognize who they are. Sometimes, the most meaningful form of respect begins not with grand gestures but with the words we choose every day./PN
